Everybody's Changing
by Blackbirdox
Summary: Glimpses of the future of each of the Dead Poets as they struggle to step out of the shadows of the past.
1. Todd

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to or affiliated with Dead Poets Society. I'm still waiting for someone to hand over Charlie, though. It'd be fantastic if someone could make that happen. I guess I should also mention that even though I would like to, I do not own the Keane song I used for the title.**

**A/N: I started this as a challenge for myself to keep up with writing. Now that I'm back in school, I don't have as much free time but I got this idea and I just had to write it. This is sort of my baby in terms of projects so I hope you enjoy it as much as I'm enjoying planning it and writing it. As always, reviews are hugely appreciated. Thanks for reading!**

It's been an unusually warm winter, even for Florida. The air has been uncomfortably thick and humid. Muggy. Much too hot to be associated with the month of December.

Todd hasn't quite grown accustom to the weather yet but he's willing to admit he likes the change. He likes the relative calm of the area and the sun and the heat. It's oddly comforting, in a way. Almost like the little peninsula is a separate world entirely onto itself, safely tucked away from outside influence.

It's never too cold and Todd likes that. Todd hates the cold. He never has to worry about the possibility that it make snow and he likes that even more. Todd _really_ hates snow.

The sun is beginning to set over the beach and the sky is lit up with vibrant streaks of pink and orange and yellow. The temperature is finally starting to drop a little as the sun does and the wind has picked up, creating an enjoyable chill.

The water lapping at his feet is a little too cold for his liking but he's been standing in it so long, he's simply gotten used to it. His toes are now comfortably numb at the tips and he wiggles them, submerging them farther into the wet sand beneath his bare feet.

The breeze whips his hair around his face while he stares out at the vastness of the ocean in front of him and for a moment, he briefly considers how easy it would be to just slip into it and never resurface but his conscience gives him a stern scolding and the thought immediately vanishes. This is supposed to be a happy place. He's supposed to be relaxing.

A warm hand finds his and a small hint of a smile tugs at Todd's lips as he turns his head to the right to face her, lacing their fingers together.

She looks utterly serene and peaceful against the backdrop of the setting sun but there's an unsettling intensity in her eyes that's completely unfamiliar to him and in the time they've been together, he's gotten pretty good at identifying her thoughts and feelings based on her expressions and slight behavioral quirks. She's very open in every sense of the word and essentially wears her heart on her sleeve. There's not a lot that he doesn't pick up on.

His eyebrows raise in question and she lets a quiet sigh pass between her lips. "You're always so serious, Todd. I don't understand it."

He bristles, dropping her hand immediately. He knows she never does this on purpose and he knows she's driven by innate curiosity to ask questions and try to figure him out but he's beginning to resent her for it.

He wants to be able to tell her things about himself and about his past. He'd like to be able to talk with her about anything really but he can't seem to bring himself to do it. He just can't open up; not to her and certainly not to anyone else. Intimacy scares him and placing trust in others is not an easy thing for him to do.

Todd manages a weak and very forced smile. "Not always," he jests, trying to make light of the situation.

It clearly doesn't amuse her because she crosses her arms and shoots him a very pointed look and this one he _is_ able to understand. He can tell he's upset her. He tends to do that a lot and he knows he must frustrate her but he can't really blame her because he'd be frustrated too.

"Todd," she sighs, wrapping her arms around his neck as leans up on the very tips of her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "I just want you to talk to me."

He stares down into her eyes for a moment and the way they look, soft and dark and lit up with concern is so haunting and utterly _familiar _that it makes him feel physically sick. "I-I can't," he admits in a whisper. At the momentary flicker of pain that flashes in her eyes, he quickly backtracks, not having intended to hurt her feelings. "Just n-not now, Natalie."

Hope for the future seems to ease her troubled mind because she nuzzles her nose against his and when she pulls back to look at him again, she's smiling and the sight of that sends a jolt of warmth down his spine. He likes seeing her smile.

"Don't you ever just want to... let go?"

Her question catches him a little off guard and his brows furrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Natalie drops her arms from around his neck and shrugs, tucking a stray strand of her short, dark hair behind her ear. "You're so tense all the time. I couldn't ever live like that." Her eyes twinkle as she grins up at him and Todd can't help but laugh because that's exactly what he likes about her.

A true free spirit, she's wild and untamable and often childlike about the way she looks at things. She laughs a lot and seems to always have something to smile about no matter what's going in her life. She's such a vibrant ball of warmth and light and positive energy that she could put the sun to shame and she's so irrevocably charming, he can't resist bending to her every whim- no matter how silly it may be.

Todd knows he's so drawn to her simply because she reminds him of _him_ but he's not too ashamed to admit that- even if it's only too himself- because she's what he wants and more importantly, she's exactly what he needs.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

She considers her response for a moment before taking his hand again. She takes a few little lithe steps backwards, extending his arm out in the process. Natalie shoots him a coy smile before moving forward again, twirling herself right back into his arms.

"I want you to dance with me," she whispers, brushing her lips along the shell of his ear.

Todd's eyes grow wide in surprise and he can already feel the blush beginning to rise in his cheeks. "H-Here?"

Natalie giggles, pressing a peck of a kiss to his lips. "Right here."

Before he can protest, or even think of it, she's let go of him again and has taken off down the beach, kicking up sprays of water and sand and the hem of her pretty white dress. She seems to be immune to the looks she gets as she twirls around, laughing and moving her feet to the unheard rhythm in her head.

Todd clears his throat and jams his hands into his pockets, ducking his head and staring down at the sand in an attempt to hide from the unwanted attention. "We're in public," he grouses.

She turns her head to look at him and simply shrugs. "So what?"

He lifts his head again and his eyes narrow a little on their own accord. "So..." He sighs heavily. "So people are looking at you."

Natalie seems completely un-phased as she continues to dance, giving another shrug of her shoulders. "Who cares?"

Todd can't respond. He wants to but he just physically cannot do it- he's at a literal loss for words. He can't fathom a reason to explain why he cares that people are looking at them or why he was embarrassed to associate himself with Natalie at that particular moment. He doesn't know why he cares about what people think of him or why he's let that stand in his way his entire life.

Because in that moment, he _doesn't_ care. For the first time in his life, he feels completely unburdened and open and _free_.

He takes a hesitant step forward and his heart nearly melts when he sees the smile she gives him. This is progress. Real and actual progress and he can feel his fears and insecurities vanish in the blink of an eye as he begins to move his feet. His movements are a little clumsy at first- awkward and uncoordinated- but he slowly gets a feel for the steps and they get smoother.

There's a look of sheer joy on Natalie's face as he pulls her into his arms to spin her around and he's ecstatic to know he put it there. He doesn't have a word powerful enough to express his gratitude towards her for what she's doing to him and the person she's turning him into.

Todd imagines that _he_ would have broken him out of his shell had things turned out differently. He often thought about how happy they could have been together and what a different person he would be now. Stronger, of course. Confident. He would have been a successful writer by now rather than a struggling, vagrant one shacking up in a tiny apartment in Key West. He'd be constantly happy instead of just being happy once in awhile because _he_ would never have given him a reason to feel anything else.

He'd had dreams for them and they were cruelly taken away from him but as he swiftly dips Natalie backwards, their eyes lock and a new set of dreams begin to fill his head.

She's not Neil and she never will be. She'll never take his place- never even come close to it- but he's slowly made room for her. He's fallen in love with her and he wants nothing more than to do this for the rest of his life. She's been dancing with him since they met- supporting him, knocking him down and picking him up and weathering the bumps in the road without one single complaint.

She's too good for him and she treats him better than she should and he loves her for it.

He lifts her back up and flattens his palm against the small of her back, pressing her body firmly against his. He buries his face in her sweet-smelling hair as he holds her, grounding himself against the sudden tilt of his world. He's scared to death about what loving her means but his heart is pounding with fervent excitement at the same time.

"Todd?" she asks, her voice slightly muffled around the linen fabric of his shirt.

He pulls back far enough to look down at her and he can't stop the grin that spreads across his face. "I love you," he confesses in a rush. "I _love_ you."

Natalie's mouth falls open and she's silent for several moments as her eyes search his. "Y-You love me?" She laughs and throws her arms around his neck, kissing him firmly on the lips. He teeters unsteadily on his feet for a moment before he gets his balance and kisses her back, threading his fingers through her hair and tangling them into the strands.

When he pulls back a few moments later, he chuckles breathlessly and presses a kiss to her forehead. "I do. I love you very much."

She places her hand on his cheek and gently rubs her thumb across his skin, a bright smile lighting up her face. "I love you too, Todd."

He ends up blushing again as a couple standing few feet away from them breaks into light applause and he pulls Natalie closer, leaning in for another kiss.

She places her fingers against his lips to stop him and her mouth curves up into a smirk, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "We're in public," she teases. "People are looking at you."

Todd smirks as well and simply shrugs. "Who cares?" And as he kisses her again, a burst of accomplishment surges through him when he realizes he truly means that.

He's an entirely different person now and when he leads her back to the tiny apartment they share later or, the last of his resolve finally cracks and his walls come tumbling down. He's not afraid for her to see him cry when he breaks down about Neil and he's not embarrassed to admit that he'd loved him or that he still loves him and misses him and that he always will. He doesn't shy away from her comforting touch and the sympathies she whispers into his ear as he sobs against her shoulder.

The past no longer weighs heavy on his mind and when he crawls into bed with Natalie and she snuggles into his side and lays her head on his chest, the future starts to seem incredibly bright.


	2. Cameron

**A/N: Personally, I was really pleased with the way this turned out. And how quickly I was able to write it. I hope you enjoy it!**

It always gets worse in the winter. The pain that started the addiction kicks it into overdrive around the same time every year, almost like clockwork.

There's the loneliness associated with the holidays that stems from sitting in his office every year on Thanksgiving and Christmas listening to coworkers brag about their wives and their kids and their comfortable family gatherings. There's the disdain he feels for his job in general that always seems to manifest during that time. And then there's the unmentionable cause; the one he tries so hard to drink away.

Cameron's can't quite put his finger on the point when it began to get out of control. It was a slow and steady decline into the throes of alcoholism that led him to where he is today. He's a drunk. A very wealthy, well-dressed and well mannered drunk but a drunk none the less. No one would even begin to question Richard Cameron's tendency to have one too many glasses of wine or champagne at social functions because they'd never have any reason to.

He can hide it well. The bottle of scotch he keeps at work is tucked safely into his desk drawer and kept under lock and key to avoid it being discovered by his secretary who tends to blur the lines of personal space. He keeps a bottle of mouthwash with it that comes in handy for sudden, impromptu business meetings- ones he knows about days in advance but tends to forget- or the God-awful days that spring up when the scotch runs dry. It's a poor substitute for regular alcohol, of course, but it's something to get him through the day.

Chronic headaches are the excuse he gives when people question him about his sallow appearance or the bags under his eyes or his general lethargic attitude. It's not an extreme stretch of the truth- he _does_ have frequent headaches. He just lies about the cause.

No one digs deep enough to find the real reason- not that they'd care, anyway- and therefore, no one suspects.

He knows he has a problem but that doesn't stop him. He knows he _should_ stop but he can't. He doesn't _want_ to stop.

Granted, safer, less expensive methods of therapy exist- ones that have been actually proven to work- but Cameron doesn't see the point. He considers himself to be broken beyond the point of repair now and no amount of therapy could even begin correct the things that he feels or the raw guilt and shame he has to deal with on a daily basis.

Slowly drinking himself to death doesn't seem like the worst way to go out. Not really.

His favorite bar doesn't consist of much. It's the very definition of a hole in the wall- run down and filled with cheap women, cheap alcohol and the lingering, persistent scent of even cheaper perfume.

It's dirty and dusty and no one- not even the owner- seems to care enough to work to preserve it before it falls apart completely. The roof tends to leak when it rains; water stains decorate the ceiling and the plaster looks like it could just collapse at any moment. The wood of the bar stools and booths in the corner is cracked and splintered but anyone sitting in them is generally too drunk or too accustomed to it to complain.

It's nestled so far into the heart of the slums of the city; it requires a near half hour drive to make it there from his apartment uptown. The drive home makes him a little nervous- being pulled over while intoxicated would be _horribly_ embarrassing- but he doesn't want to risk taking a cab.

His paranoia over being recognized is what drives the lengthy trip. None of his acquaintances would be caught dead down here and that peace of mind makes it worth it.

It's snowing again as he makes his way inside. He shakes the flakes out of his hair and brushes them off his coat as he approaches his usual seat at the bar- second to last stool on the right towards the back corner. He peels his gloves off and places them on the faux-wood finish of the counter before raising his hand in acknowledgement to Jim, the bartender.

It's a quiet night- not uncommon for a Tuesday. There are a few people seated around the establishment; regulars, mostly, who sit with their heads bowed as they sip their drinks. Cameron's embarrassed to be one of them. Part of him wants to argue that he doesn't belong here but the part of him that's jonesing for a drink says that he does.

He doesn't have to order or even be asked what he wants. Within seconds, a glass of single malt is placed in front of him and he revels in the sight of the amber liquid. He swallows half of it in one swig and immediately relaxes as he feels the warmth sliding down his throat and radiating through the rest of his body.

Cameron no longer feels nauseous or on edge. The stress of the day and going a few hours without a drink melt away with a relieved groan and he tries not to think about the fact that he's regressed a little more down his own slippery slope.

He used to be able to go a few days without a drink. Then a day. Now he can't even go a few hours without his fingers itching to be wrapped around a bottle. It's gotten bad. Really bad. And again, the thought of stopping crosses his mind but his stomach turns and twists into one big knot just thinking about it.

Finishing the rest of his drink puts him at ease again and he signals for a refill. The moment the liquid settles in the glass, he reaches for it but he sips it a little more slowly. He's not in too much of a hurry this time and he can actually take the time to savor the taste of the drink instead of just guzzling it down.

By the time Cameron's finished off his fourth glass, he's relaxed enough to the point where he's starting to acquire a comfortable buzz. Not quite enough to be pleasant or numbing or even enjoyable, really, but enough to remind him to slow it down.

He leans back in his chair and runs his finger along the rim of the now empty glass in front of him. Times like this make him realize how ironic it is that he's so much like the glass in a way. Empty. Once he's drained it of its contents, it just sits there staring back at him, waiting for the next thing to come along and temporarily fill it up.

He finds solace in work and liquor and wealth and occasionally a significant other but a good ninety-nine percent of the time; he's just as empty and vacant as the glass. The thought alone causes a wry, sardonic grin to spread across his face and he shakes his head in disappointment.

This was never how he wanted his life to turn out. He could have been anything he wanted to be- he had the monetary backing for it. There was nothing that was out of reach for a Cameron except for the one thing that he wanted most. He wanted to be happy.

But he's not happy. Not even close.

He's lonely and bitter and most days, he just _hates_ himself for the things that he's done. He likes to pretend that the life he led before college never existed. It's all like one bad dream that he can't seem to shake off and it's easier to say that it's not real. He wishes it wasn't real.

Thinking about it causes the phantom itch to rise in his fingers and he waves Jim over for another refill. He ignores the look he gives him that clearly suggests _stop_ and tries to ignore that his mind is telling him the same thing.

He polishes off the glass without even making an effort and slams it down onto the counter with a loud sigh. He considers having another one but decides against it and ultimately gets to his feet, teeters a bit unsteadily as all the blood from his head seems to rush down to his extremities and momentarily makes the room seem to spin, slaps down the money to cover his tab and grabs his gloves.

Cameron pulls them on and gives an awkward, one handed salute to Jim as a sign of thanks as he stumbles out into the street. It's still snowing and the cool flakes feel good as they pelt his face. They're soon melted by warm tears that begin to stream his cheeks as he climbs into his car; tears he hadn't even noticed forming.

It's not a good day.

He grips the steering wheel tightly in his hands as he begins to sob, past the point of caring about his actions now. A thick wave of emotion and guilt and grief washes over him. Chokes him. Makes it impossible for him to think about anything else. This happens every once and awhile and he's not all that alarmed by it now. The first time he suffered one of his 'fits' was the day he graduated from Welton. He locked himself in his room and cried for hours; terrified over the sudden rush of feelings and embarrassed by the way his body had chosen to deal with it. Now he just waits them out and is thankful when the familiar numbness he prefers slowly creeps back in.

This one doesn't last long and in a matter of minutes, he straightens himself back up and wipes his eyes and clears his throat, pulling himself back together.

He drives home in silence and keeps his eyes focused straight ahead of him, part of him thankful for the distraction from thought that driving brings and the other part trying to get himself home without getting pulled over or killed.

He's successful, as always, and when he returns home, he heads straight for the liquor cabinet in the living room. The bottle is waiting for him and the couch is comfortable when he sinks into it.

Cameron considers heading to bed but the monster inside of him is already craving more and he yanks the cap off the bottle with little hesitation. He can't escape this. He downs a considerable amount of alcohol and when he's satisfied that his memories will be completely repressed for the night, he stumbles off to bed and collapses face first into the pillows, not even bothering to change.

He'll wake up tomorrow and only continue to fuel his vicious cycle.


	3. Knox

**A/N: I feel like this is becoming a blanket statement but this was written for DeadPoet0712 because I couldn't write about Knox and_ not_ include her in some way. She's the best inspiration I have and I appreciate her constant encouragement. Thank you all for reading and reviewing!**

It's snowing outside. Flakes had been falling earlier- tiny and dainty little flecks of frozen ice that had started to disintegrate in midair, never really having the chance to hit the ground. Now it's coming down in thick sheets and covering the campus in the fluffy white substance.

Knox is watching it fall from the window, finding it much more entertaining than the party going on around him. The moonlight is hitting it in the certain way that makes it look so beautiful and inviting and more like a scene out of a painting rather than real life. He's incredibly tempted to ditch the party, forget that he's supposed to be a mature adult and go run around in the snow instead.

He downs the last of the beer in his hand- he's lost track of how many that is that he's had now- and haphazardly tosses the empty plastic cup over his shoulder. His head spins a little and he lays it on the cool glass of the window pane, letting his eyes slip closed.

Being here is the last thing he wanted to do. He's pretty certain he has a paper that's due tomorrow but he can't remember the exact due date or if he's even done it in the first place. He's thinks he has because he's not one to let his grades slip but the alcohol induced fog surrounding his brain causes the concern to arise anyway.

Knox has never cared for parties very much in the first place. He tends to get awkward or drunk- two things he's already accomplished in a very short time- or beat up by other guys when he tries to steal their girlfriends. He's managed to avoid almost every one this year but he got suckered into this one with one very alluring promise.

She's the reason driving most everything he does in social settings. He's been crazy about her since the first time he'd laid eyes on her. She's pretty and funny and smart and kind and nearly every other positive adjective one might find in the dictionary. He doesn't even know her name yet but he's convinced himself she's the girl he's going to marry one day.

And she's supposed to be here.

Just thinking about her causes his heart to flutter a bit unevenly behind his rib cage. He knows he has a tendency to thrust himself head first into things without really stopping to think about what he's doing and relationships have proved to be his main problem. He's been certain he's been in love many times but this time, things are different. _She's_ different.

He wants her more than he's ever wanted anything or anyone else and he knows he's going to get her. Because once Knox Overstreet sets his sight on something, it's his. He doesn't care that it may take awhile because he's willing to fight for her. His friends keep trying to tell him that once he gets to know her, the shine will wear off. The allure of his mystery girl will be gone. But Knox knows that isn't true because he can watch her day in and day out and he'll still find something new to admire.

He'll forever be enamored with her.

Knox lifts his head away from the window and scrubs his hand over his face, trying to clear his head a little. He turns around and his bleary eyes search the room, hoping to find her. His heart sinks a little in disappointment when he comes up dry but proceeds to swell when he finally spots her.

She's standing in the corner; arm in arm with the girl Knox has determined is her best friend. They both look about as uncomfortable as he feels, speaking only to each other from what he can see and taking sips out of a shared drink. Her friend whispers something into her ear and she laughs and Knox nearly forgets how to breathe at the sight of it.

He hasn't seen her for a few days and he's forgotten just how beautiful she really is.

She looks drastically different than she does on a daily basis. Her hair is impeccable, her makeup flawless. Her dress looks new and he can almost imagine how the silky material would feel beneath his fingers. He wants nothing more than to grab her and kiss her and hold her and never let her go but he knows he's going to have to work up to that. Right now he'd just settle for her name and to see her smile.

Her smile is one of the things he likes most about her. She smiles a lot and no matter how many times he sees her do it, the raw beauty of it always catches him off guard. Seeing the smile he loves so much and knowing he put it there would be one of the greatest feelings he could imagine.

When her friend is pulled away for a dance, he nearly chokes on his own spit at the realization that she's alone. Alone and standing just a few feet away from him. That's never happened before. His hands tremble a little from nerves and excitement and he shoves them into his pockets to hide them from view. He knows it's now or never and he definitely doesn't want to end up stuck with the never option.

For the first time in years, he opens himself up to the concept of carpe diem. He tries to avoid thinking about that and the painful memories associated with it but today is different. Today it seems appropriate. He's waited long enough for this and he feels like the weight of the world has finally been lifted from his shoulders.

As he takes his first step forward, he can't help but think that Neil would be proud of him. He had always provided encouragement when he was pining for Chris so many years ago and he can only imagine what it would be like now; now when Knox has fallen so blindly in love. He imagines that Neil would be supporting him and maybe, just maybe with his help, he would have been doing this a lot sooner.

The thought causes his stomach to knot up but he pushes the painful memories to the side. In his mind, Neil is here. He's watching and he's smiling and knowing that he forever has the support of his best friend causes Knox to immediately relax. He's not going to let anything stand in the way of his happiness. Not now.

He nearly trips over his own feet when he comes to in abrupt stop in front of her and he can feel his face heat up in embarrassment. He doesn't want to screw anything up. Not with her. He'd never forgive himself if something went wrong. "H-Hi," he stutters out, awkwardly clearing his throat.

Her eyebrow rises in slight surprise and a light blush begins to color her own cheeks as well. "Hi," she responds a bit hesitantly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Knox tries to keep his brain working and his mouth moving because he doesn't want to just stand there like an idiot with his mouth agape but the fact that she's looking right at him and actually _speaking_ to him is almost too much for him to handle. So he does just stand there, eyes wide and mouth open, watching her watch him.

She shifts her gaze to the side for a moment before looking back at him and biting down on her lower lip, growing a little uncomfortable with his intense stare. "You're Knox, right?"

His heart stutters and skips a beat. She knows his name. She actually knows he exists. "Y-Y-Yes." He clears his throat and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a lopsided grin. He can't imagine being any happier or more excited than he is right now.

She nods in recognition and sets her cup over on the end table. She extends her now free hand towards him and he takes it in a heart beat. "I'm April." With her introduction, she gives him a smile and everything and everyone else around them automatically just fades away.

She's touching him and smiling at him and this is more than Knox could have ever wished for. The proverbial butterflies in his stomach are fluttering wildly and his own pulse is thundering loudly in his ears and his heart is pounding so fast he's amazed that it's even capable of doing that but all of that pales in significance to the fact that he's still holding her hand. And it fits just perfectly in his like they were somehow made for each other.

"April," he repeats, reveling in the way her name seems to roll so effortlessly off his tongue. "I've always liked April. April is a good month."

Her eyebrow rises again and she stares at him for several moments, unsure of how to take that. "Um. Thank you?" She can barely get the sentence out before she begins to laugh, lifting her free hand to cover her mouth as she does so.

Knox's lips slip into a small pout. "What's so funny?"

"That has to be the worst pick up line I've ever heard," she admits honestly once her laughter has subsided. There's still a smile on her face so he assumes she doesn't mind and she validates this with her next statement. "But I like it."

His eyes widen in slight surprise and he ends up grinning all over again. He's done something she likes and he wasn't even trying. "I could do better."

She laughs again and gives the hand she's still holding a gentle squeeze. "I'd like to see you try."

Knox can't help the smirk that spreads across his face. He's incredibly pleased with the way things have turned out. He's gone from admiring her from afar to having an actual shot at being with her. That could take a while and there's a possibility that it may not ever happen at all but the fact that the chance exists is enough for him. He's made progress tonight and he loves that she's no longer a mystery or a dream. She's real and tangible and she's already made him happy to the point where it's almost unbearable. He's finally getting what he wants.

"You're very pretty you know," he tells her, hoping that'll have better success.

Her blush returns and spreads out across her face, staining her porcelain skin a pale and pretty red. He likes being able to do that to her. The effect is really quite lovely. "Thank you," she mumbles, lowering her gaze to the carpeted floor.

He glances around the room in thought before squeezing her hand in return. "You wanna take a walk with me?"

Her eyes snap back up to him and she chews lightly on her bottom lip as she considers her answer. His heart hammers hard against his ribs as he waits and when she finally agrees, he releases a pent up breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

"Y-Yeah?" He grins triumphantly. "Great!"

He waits as patiently as possible for her to grab her coat and tell her friend she's leaving. He stands by the door, nervously tapping his foot and when she returns, he immediately grabs her hand and gives her a smile as he leads her out the door. Knox stumbles a little but April only laughs and drops his hand, wrapping her arm tightly around his waist instead. He leans against her but he's only partially using her for support. He's enjoying being this close to her.

"Maybe a walk wasn't the best idea in your condition," she jokes, smiling up at him.

He simply shrugs. "'S pretty outside."

They walk outside and he steps away from her, running out into the snow. He turns around to face her and throws his arms open with a laugh. "See?"

She giggles and nods in agreement as she hurries over to stand next to him, just in case his temporary sense of balance decides to give out. "It's very pretty."

She reaches out for his hand like it was already second nature and he intertwines their fingers, lifting her hand to press a kiss to the back of it. "Not as pretty as you," he counters, enjoying the blush that once again spreads across her cheeks.

April scoffs quietly and playfully smacks his chest with her free hand. "Shut up," she grumbles, shaking her head in amusement. "You're pathetic."

He feigns a hurt look and leans over to kiss her cheek. "Only because I like you so much."

She turns her head to face him and her pretty green eyes widen in surprise at his confession. She considers this for a moment before leaning in a little further and resting her forehead against his. "Oh really?"

Knox's breath catches in his throat and his heart rate increases yet again. His mind is reeling with the knowledge of what's going to happen next and it's astonishing to realize that this is actually happening. "Really," he whispers, closing his eyes.

He leans in and she meets him halfway and then suddenly, their lips are touching and Knox's heart stops all together. He knows he may be jumping the gun a little but he can just tell this is _right_. She's undoubtedly the one and he's never, never going to let her go. The kiss is short and sweet and over before he can really register that it had happened but when she pulls back and smiles at him, he can't remember the last time he'd been so happy. Or if he had ever been that happy, for that matter.

Knox kisses her over and over and leaves her giggly and breathless when he takes her back to her dorm room so they never do take their walk- not in the literal sense.

The walk that they do take- the figurative one, the one towards their future- is far more important.


	4. Charlie

**A/N: I'm not sure how I feel about how this turned out. It was a struggle to write because I had about fifty different things I wanted to do with it and I couldn't make up my mind. But I hope you enjoy it and thank you all for reading! Don't hesitate to review. They're always appreciated. **

The gleam of the afternoon sun is bright and warm and has slowly begun to melt the remainder of the snow that's blanketed over the front yard. It'll be months before winter fades completely into spring but it's slowly started its retreat. Leaves are beginning to return to trees and the grass poking up through the snow is greener. The air is still cool and there's a definite bite to the breeze that causes a shiver to run down Charlie's spine as he makes his way back inside the house.

The welcoming atmosphere bodes no illusion to the dark and gloomy cloud that's settled over his world.

He kicks the front door shut behind him and stumbles a little, weighed down by the heavy box in his hands. He carries it into the living room and drops it on the floor amongst the other boxes with an accomplished grin. Now that the moving process has offically been completed, it feels like a weight has literally and -considering the boxes littering the floor- figuratively been lifted off his shoulders.

The sound of footsteps causes him to turn around and Charlie's face immediately lights up as his wife hurries towards him. He opens his arms just in time for her to jump into them, securing her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he stumbles a little, making them both laugh. She presses a playful kiss to the tip of his nose and flashes a smile that makes his heart melt.

He spins her around once before setting her back down on her feet. Her arms stayed locked around his neck so he winds his own around her waist and peppers a series of kisses all over her face, turning the smile he loves into the giggle he loves even more. "So you like it?"

Kathryn nods in affirmation and nuzzles her face into his chest, lavishing a light kiss to the skin exposed in the space where the top buttons of his shirt lay open. "I love it."

"I love you," Charlie murmurs, twirling one of her silky red curls around his finger. He gives it a gentle tug and smirks at the half-assed glare she sends in his direction. "What? I do," he insists, placing one hand over his heart in a display of feigned hurt.

She rolls her eyes and frees herself from his grasp, shaking her head in simple amusement. "I don't know what to say."

"That you love me too?" When she turns her back to him and begins to walk away, he huffs. "Kate? Babe? You're not really going to ignore me? Your husband? Hey!" He can see her shoulders shaking from laughter and he narrows his eyes at her retreating form as he hurries after her.

She glances over her shoulder at him and breaks into a full run when she realizes he's following her. She barely makes it up the stairs before he catches up and tackles her, pulling her into his arms and cradling her against his chest. "Say it."

Kathryn's lip twitches up in the ghost of a smirk as she links her arms around his neck. "Or what?"

Charlie simply responds with a grin and there's a gleam in his eyes that lets her know she already knows the answer. She squeals and tightens her grip on him as he takes off running again, carrying her down the hallway and into the last room on the left. He drops her unceremoniously onto the mattress they're using as a makeshift bed and stands over her, placing his hands on his hips as he stares her down.

After a moment or so of playful glowering, Kathryn relents with a laugh and pulls him down next to her. "You're ridiculous Charlie Dalton."

He situates himself on the mattress and pulls her into his arms, letting her lay her head on his chest. He resorts back to playing with her hair, running his fingers through the silky strands as he smiles down at her. "I know. But you love me."

"I do." She giggles and lifts her head to press a kiss to his jaw. "For whatever reason, I love you very much."

Charlie moves his hand to gently run his thumb over her cheek, across her lips and then finally over the dark circles beneath her eyes. He hates the sight of them and the way they stand out so harshly against her pale skin. They eliminate the shimmer and life in her pretty eyes and destroy the precious illusion of everything being alright. They're just evidence to the contrary.

"You look tired," he whispers, his playful mood falling entirely by the wayside.

Kathryn's smile slips into a frown as well and a quiet sigh passes between her lips. "I am." She grabs his hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. "Comes with the territory of dying, you know," she jokes in an attempt to be flippant. It fails, and the almost non existent grin that accompanies her comment is short lived.

He inhales deeply and lifts his gaze to the ceiling. "I know." Charlie hates that he does know. He wishes he didn't. He's beginning to wonder what he ever did to deserve the fate of having to lose the two people he cared about the most.

Neil's death was sudden and quick and proved that people who say that things hurt less when you don't see them coming are dirty rotten liars because it doesn't hurt less. It just hurts more. The shock of losing him- his very best friend- will never really go away. It's not something he'll ever be able to get over. He can still think of things he had wanted to say or do and knowing that he'll never have the chance is going to continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Knowing in advance doesn't make it any less painful but it does at least eliminate the element of surprise. He has a set amount of time- give or take a few months- to spend with his wife and to do and say everything he needs to. He won't have to wonder or worry about anything because there's a plan- albeit a very upsetting and frightening one that he doesn't like at all but a plan none the less.

Kathryn props herself up on her elbow and turns his head to force him to look at her. "Hey," she murmurs. "We're supposed to be happy. You're killing the mood."

Charlie forces a weak and very mechanical smile. "I'm not sick one, am I?"

Her jaw clenches just the slightest bit and her expression steels for a moment before fading into something more along the lines of tenderness. Instead of answering, she leans down and kisses him, passing along all of her unspoken apologies. He remains still for a moment to enjoy the feeling before he kisses her back, tangling his fingers into her hair to hold her in place.

There's nothing he wouldn't give to have her with him for the rest of his life and to be able to kiss her and hold her and listen to her laugh and see her smile. He truly loves her and the thought of losing her gives him the feeling of having a block of lead sitting in his stomach. He can't even begin to imagine what life will be like without her and he hates knowing their time is limited. He _can't_ give her up.

Charlie slips his free hand around her waist and pulls her as close to him as physically possible. He doesn't want to ever let her go. She's been the one and only thing that's kept him going for the past few years and she's the best thing that's ever happened to him. She's changed him in ways he never thought possible and completely turned his life around without even trying.

He can picture what their life would be like- what it was supposed to be like; what it should be like- and he wants it. He wants it so badly and his heart aches with the knowledge that he'll never get it.

He can imagine waking up to her every morning and the way she'd greet him every night when he came home from work. The vacations they'd take and the culture and languages they'd discover together. They would have always been able to indulge their shared love of poetry and music and art and they would have had a million things to do together without really doing much of anything at all.

He can even see the family they hoped to have; their daughter with her mother's freckles and fiery curls and their son with his sandy, shaggy hair who no doubt would have inherited his lust for trouble. They have her eyes- brilliant and green and sparkling- because that's what he's always wanted.

The images beneath his closed lids begin to cloud and fade away and are replaced by hot, stinging tears that suddenly well up in his eyes without warning. A choked sob escapes him and effectively breaks their kiss but he continues to hold her as he begins to cry, trying to enjoy the feeling for as long as he can.

Kathryn whispers soothing words that he doesn't really hear as she tries to calm him down. She's always handled things better than he has and apparently, her sealed fade is no exception. She's as calm and collected as she's ever been, as far as he can tell, and her strength, he decides, is the thing he loves most about her.

Charlie doesn't allow the crying to go on for too long and he sniffles and clears his throat, his cheeks flushing a very light pink out of sheer embarrassment. "Sorry."

She smiles and wipes the tears off his cheeks. "Don't be. I like sensitive men."

Despite the serious turn their banter has taken, he can't help but laugh and appreciate her omnipresent sense of humor. That's the second thing he loves most. "I'll keep that in mind."

She settles back into his arms and nestles her head into the crook of his neck. She rests her hand on his chest, right above his heart, and her fingers trace random patterns into the fabric of his shirt. After several moments of silence, Charlie tightens his grip on her and buries his face into her hair. "Don't leave me," he pleads and his voice is so quiet and soft, she's not even sure if she heard him correctly until she feels a fresh stream of tears beginning to fall.

Again, she can only answer with a kiss.

Kathryn joins Charlie in the living room a few hours later, bottle of wine in hand and wearing nothing but one of his old flannel shirts he thought he'd lost months ago. He glances up from the box he's unpacking and grins, raising an eyebrow in interest. "Did you steal that from me?"

She giggles and sits down next to him on the floor, leaning back against the wall. "You didn't notice?"

He looks her over and shakes his head as he drops an arm over her shoulder. "I guess I must have been too distracted to notice." He swipes the bottle from her hand and takes a sip before following up with, "That does look _fantastic _on you."

Kathryn rolls her eyes and playfully slaps his chest when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Be good," she scolds, reaching for another one of the many boxes covering the living room floor. She peels back one of the cardboard flaps and sighs when she looks over the contents. "And there's the glasses. I was looking for those."

Charlie laughs and takes another drink from the bottle. "This works just as well."

"Who says I want to share with you?"

He pouts and sets the wine down, pulling her over onto his lap. "You're not being very nice to me today."

"Aw," she coos, poking him affectionately on the tip of his nose. "You really are sensitive, aren't you?

Charlie narrows his eyes at her but the smile she gives him leaves him almost breathless and unable to come up with any form of retaliation. Instead, he just laughs and rests his chin on her shoulder. "I guess so."

"I like it."

"Well, I like you."

"I _love_ you."

He grins and brushes a few stray strands of hair off her neck so he can press a kiss to it. "I love you too."

The future's still looming- a solitary dark cloud on an otherwise spotless sky- but at the moment, it doesn't seem as important or difficult because the present is blocking it out and the present is all that matters.


	5. Meeks

**A/N: Oh my God, it's been forever since I've even thought about this story, and I really apologize for that! I finally got an idea and an inspiration for a new chapter, so here it is. I will complete this one day- I promise!**

Stephen Meeks opts for school rather than the service, and signs up to study abroad the summer before he turns twenty.

He winds up at the American University in Paris and he rents out a tiny studio apartment a few blocks down the road from the campus. It's not much but its warm and homey, and Stephen likes the way the sun streams in through the bedroom curtains in the morning.

He gets by mainly on the French he and Charlie taught themselves at Welton, and he eventually befriends his neighbor, Marie, who scrunches her nose when she laughs and shows him around all the local cafes and shops. Some nights when it gets quiet he walks across the hall and sleeps on her couch, curled up with the little black kitten she calls Piaf, and some nights he stays home and studies, sipping tea on his couch while Piaf's namesake sings quietly in the background from the record player Marie had given him.

Marie is the one who helps ease Stephen into Parisian life and she glides into his life so easily that it feels like she's been there forever. Marie cooks him French food, and reads to him in French, and plays the roles of tutor, translator, and best friend all at once.

Stephen has been in the city for just about two months when Marie comes to him one night in a shimmery red dress and tells him that a friend of hers is throwing a party across town, and that they simply must go. She flutters her eye lashes and pushes her lips into a pout and says _s'il te plait, cherie?_ over and over until Stephen finally just laughs and grabs his coat- for who could ever say no to any of that?

Marie's friend is called Vincent, and his loft is decorated with all white and black furniture, and he has lights that flash neon pink and green in time with the pounding base of the music. It's not quite like anything Stephen has ever seen, and it's a far cry from the parties of the Connecticut upper crust that he grew up attending. Feeling quite like an outsider, he migrates to the corner of the room, where someone hands him a glass of some kind of drink that's the same color pink as the lights.

Marie is long gone, having fluttered off somewhere in a streak of flashing sequins and bouncing blonde curls, and Stephen does his best to just stay out of the way, doing his best to remember what little French he knows through the alcohol induced fuzz around his brain.

He politely continues to accept drinks, and even braves a dance with a redhead in a tight leather skirt, but before long his attention has waned so much that even another round of alcohol cant pull him back in.

And just when he decides that, and just when he makes his way towards the door, fate decides to step in.

Fate comes in the form of Benjamin, who all but ruins the front of Stephen's white sweater by accidently dumping his drink all over it. Ben speaks about as much English as Stephen does French, but they manage to communicate enough to get the spill cleaned up and Stephen's sweater into Ben's hands, who promises to clean it and return it to him the next day.

But Stephen never actually does get his sweater back, for later that night it winds up in a heap on the floor of Benjamin's apartment with the rest of his clothes.

Benjamin acts the part of the perfect gentleman and swears up and down that getting Stephen into bed was never his intent, and that he normally doesn't do anything of the sort, but no matter Benjamin's original intent, Stephen spends the rest of the night in his bed anyway.

And the majority of the next morning.

When it really comes down to it, the two of them don't have much in common—

Ben is tall and handsome, with shaggy dark hair and the faintest dusting of a beard, and Stephen hasn't grown at all since his days at Welton, though he keeps his curls trimmed much closer now.

Stephen is an engineering major and Ben is studying art, and neither one of them can really wrap their heads around each other's chosen fields.

Ben grew up in a poor country town as opposed to Stephen's wealthy suburb.

Stephen drinks wine, and Ben smokes hand rolled cigarettes, and each of them hates the smell and taste of the other's vise.

—But despite their differences, Stephen meshes better with Ben than anyone else he's ever known, and they very easily fall into a relationship together.

Marie gives them a silly little smile whenever she sees them together; pressing her fingertips to her mouth like a school girl might, and she calls them _mignon_ so many times that Stephen begins to cringe whenever he hears the word in conversation.

Things move quickly with Ben, and only a few months pass before Stephen finds himself asking the other man to move in with him.

They settle in easily together, and sleep in late in the mornings to feel the sunshine through Stephen's favorite curtains and drink tea on the couch and dance in their sock feet to Edith Piaf.

"Do you have a soul mate in America?" Ben asks on one of those mornings, drawing his fingers through Stephen's slowly lengthening hair.

"Are you asking me if I have someone else back home?" Steven clarifies, a bit confused.

"No, no," Ben says with a shake of his head, waving his free hand about as he searches for the correct words. "Do you have the… the…"

"Concept?"

"Ah, oui."

"Oui," Stephen repeats as he takes a hold of Ben's hand and presses a kiss to his palm.

Ben smiles, resting his cheek against the top of Stephen's head. "Do you believe that I am yours, then?"

"Believe?"

"Oui."

Stephen laughs, turning his head upwards to capture Ben's lips in a kiss. "I know that you are."

They live there in the studio for nearly a year until Stephen finishes his degree, and then they move to a smaller, more artistic sect of Paris. The apartment there is a bit smaller, but it's perfect for the three of them- Ben, Stephen, and Piaf the cat, who had been Marie's parting gift to them.

That's where they build their life together; where Ben paints and Stephen designs technology for a company just outside of the city, and where they fight and make up and love and continue to dance in their sock feet. Piaf has kittens there that they name after the members of the Beatles, and they eventually make friends with the older woman across the hall when she decides that she can't hold anything against them just because they're two men in love.

They build their life and they're happy, more so than either of them ever thought they could be, and then fate steps back in just a few years later.

It turns out that Alice, the woman from across the hall, is the first to find out about what happened. A police officer knocks on her door one night around midnight and informs her that her beloved neighbors, the young couple who shared so much promise and love, had been in an accident only a few hours before. It had been a patch of ice they'd hit, the officer tells her as he hands her his handkerchief, and that's the only detail she cares to know.

Alice is the one who coordinates a funeral for them, and she invites everyone that she could find in the tattered address book they always kept by the phone- Marie, Benjamin's mother, and brother, and his friends from college, and Stephen's parents, along with a select group of his old friends including Charlie Dalton and Todd Anderson.

Alice is also the one who's left with an empty neighboring apartment when the friends and family leave. She misses them dearly, Ben and Stephen, the two young men with bright smiles and kind hearts, and the whole building seems so much dimmer without them around.

Sometimes, she sits and she thinks of them and what they could have done if they'd been given the chance. Benjamin might have been famous for his talent, and one of Stephen's inventions might have changed the world. They would have grown together- they would have reached her age, and then they would have gotten older, and even then they would still probably be the couple who danced in the middle of their kitchen with cups of tea in hand.

She keeps a photograph of them in her living room, Alice does, one that she'd taken one night over dinner. Ben had had his arm draped across Stephen's shoulder, and Stephen had been laughing, and Alice could have sworn that two people more in love couldn't have been found anywhere.

And even though it's only a photograph that she sees now, it remains impossible not to notice the love that surrounded them and, she hopes, surrounds them still.


End file.
